Rise of the Scythe
by Dead Witch Risen
Summary: Two years after the end of the anime, Soul and Maka embark on a new adventure, with their own troubles... and maybe a bit of love thrown in. A revamp of my old fic from years ago, from my old user name. The Dead Witch is back! (Rated M just to be safe, I never know how these things are gonna go)


So, I got bored and decided that I wanted to give this fic some new life. In case you didn't know, I published this under a different account several years back, but as I've lost access to that account, I have to republish here now that I have decided to begin writing again. If this gets warm reception, I'll be inclined to keep going, and writing new chapters to expand on what I had put out years ago.

Without further ado...

Chapter One: Follies and Strife

From atop the high church steeple, the pale-haired young man crouched between twin stone gargoyles. He leaned over the parapet, his palms resting comfortably between the static wings protruding from their backs. He had no fear of the height at all; he'd been higher before, and the air about him was still. The full moon shone on his face, its own visage grisly and macabre. Tonight, blood dripped from the corner of its mouth, though where it came from and where it went, or even why it was bleeding in the first place, not a single, solitary soul knew.

Not a man, woman, or child could be seen on the streets below. For a few weeks now, every few days, people had gone… well, not missing, not in the traditional sense. Large patches of blood and bits of flesh would be found in solitary dark alleys, spread about in sickening patterns that would make even the most hardened gut roil. He'd seen some of the more recent ones, still blocked by police tape. Photographs of the rest hadn't been any better; the bright colors a stark contrast to the grim setting.

The—not quite a boy, not quite a man, one still young enough to be stuck in between such phases—pushed himself to his feet, his innate sense of balance keeping him from plunging to the unforgiving ground below. He kept his ears pricked for the barest, softest sound, but put his arms above his head and stretched. He had been in that spot for a few hours now, ever since the sun had gone down and the grisly moon had begun its rise.

He hated that moon, always had. When he'd been a youngster, barely able to know what was what, it had given him the occasional nightmare. It'd been years since then, but still, it gave him the creeps.

 _It shouldn't be too much longer_ , he thought to himself. _If whoever's up to this keeps to his schedule, we should be seeing fireworks any minute now. With the curfew in place… the streets should be ours._ No sooner had he thought those words when a piercing shriek blared from a road, seven or eight blocks away. The scream was filled with primal fear and terror, the sound reverberating off of the stone buildings that made up a large part of Rome.

Rome, the city that, ironically, spawned more eggs of Kishin than damned near any one other city in the world. _Let's see… there was that "Sonson J" character, he was kinda pathetic, didn't put up much of a fight at all. Seriously, a paper bag? Not cool. A year later, a corrupted priest, then a heretic who had a thing for digging up kid's bodies. His soul tasted rotten. Hell, even that nun…_ He realized for the first time that the nun, Sister "Vicious" as she called herself after giving her soul to the madness wavelength, had come from this very cathedral. And those were only the targets on Shinigami's hit list that they'd personally gone after. _Damn. Not cool at all. This city is sick._

Another shriek cut through the air. What remaining lights in the general area flickered to darkness. _Cowards,_ he thought. _Cowards and fools._ He knew that he couldn't really blame them, as sour the taste in his mouth the thought of them gave him. They, the normal, powerless people, had no way to really fight back against the things that went bump in the night. This world of monsters and demons, witches and gods, it was none too kind to the average mortal. He knew that they had the right—no, no, the _responsibility_ to be afraid of these monsters. Despite that, it didn't mean that, in the grand scheme of things, they weren't pretty much useless by themselves.

Yet another scream rang out, this one a bit more blood-curdling than the previous two. _Geez, ham it up, why don't you?_ He grinned, though, his pointed teeth gleaming white in the evening light. At last, he saw the girl from his high position.

She was a little tall for a woman, skinny, but in shape. Ash-blond hair trailed loosely behind her as she hurdled down the street in high heels, or "fuck-me shoes" as he'd heard them called once or twice. A tight pink tank-top and black leather mini-skirt clung to her body, enhancing her curves to a point a bit more than nature thought fit to gift her with. Her purse flapped in the air behind her as she ran, wobbling in her heels dangerously as she blundered past a small fountain. Her breathing was labored, panicked, desperate. _Waaaay to ham it up_.

He leapt straight off of the ridge with a mighty thrust. For a split second, he let himself enjoy the sensation of weightlessness, neither going up nor down, simply out. This was the ultimate freedom, the ultimate risk, the ultimate rush. Up and down, neither mattered, the only thing that mattered was that single instant. At that instant, he alone _owned_ the ancient, holy city of Rome and all it contained.

Instants, by their very nature, could not last forever. Gravity took notice of him after looking the other way, and immediately imparted its will. From nearly two hundred feet above the cobblestone road below he plunged, his arms tight to his side, his hair whistling behind him as his head pointed directly down. For a few seconds, he held this position, building up speed until he hit a personal checkpoint. He scrunched up his body, then stuck out a booted foot to clip a jutting ledge outside of a stained-glass mosaic. There was enough tension in his knee and hip to send him into a manageable front flip, sending him tumbling down at high velocity down and a little bit away from the church.

The girl was running toward the church still, the look of panic yet on her face. Her pursuer slithered out of the shadow of a building, seemingly melting in and out of the surrounding darkness. Its skin was dark, its clothing seemingly melting into it, tight and without embellish. A dark mask concealed its face, save for its mouth, which was wide and long, containing twin rows of two-inch long teeth and a prehensile tongue two feet long, at least. Its chest was monumentally broad, a white splotchy pattern like a mass of scars scattered erratically. It skittered along on feet and hands like a beast, a low growl, or snarl, coming from its throat. A hiss combined with the guttural sounds, essentially turning it into a demonic representative of the shadows. The sounds were unintelligible and rough, as hideous-sounding as its appearance.

With what could only be described as an effort of will, the young man tucked in his legs close to his torso and held onto them tightly, increasing his rate of rotation and speed, cannon-balling heavy to the ground.

The girl ran as quickly as she could in the heels, abandoning the purse. She pumped her arms beside her to keep her balance and speed. She was almost to the church, barely twenty feet from the holy walls that contained consecrated ground. Sanctuary would not be her fate, however; the monster, the demon, the beast, put on a massive spurt of speed, closing the distance with nearly blinding agility.

The diving young man, fifty feet in the air, ten feet from the wall itself, grinned to himself. _Gotta love physics. Terminal velocity, you kick ass._ The instant the girl reached the point where he would land, she leapt into the air, kicking off her shoes in mid-leap, planted her feet resolutely on the wall, and fired back at him.

Simultaneously, the kid burst into a blaze of white-blue light, nearly as bright as a sun of the same color. The light coalesced into a gigantic weapon, much too large for any reasonable man to expect to be able to lift. It spun in the air, rotating all the more with his added spins before transformation. A whirling circle of red and black, dull in color, but kinetic and alive, broke the night's darkness.

An instant before it hit the ground and pierced itself into the stone, the girl, flying on by, grabbed the end of its handle and hurled toward the beast man. As soon as she made contact with the shaft, the scythe's blade burst into the same blue-white light he'd had when he transformed. A second later, it erupted into a much, much larger construct, a semicircle made of the same light with violet splotches here and there, like burnished metal before a shine.

The girl didn't give the monster a chance to react. Spinning with her weapon, she flew, the handle of the weapon held before her, knees tucked in, as she sliced the beast in half from crown to groin. A flash of crimson light bloomed behind her as she landed, the weapon's shimmering light retracting into nothingness as she crouched, the blade returned to normal. She knelt on the ground for a few seconds, her chest heaving, as she caught her breath.

The weapon flashed again, returning to the form he held only scant seconds before. The young man looked down at the girl and grinned. "You're late, Maka," he drawled, and held his hand out before him to help her up.

"Oh, shut up," she said between pants, though she gratefully grabbed his hand for support. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to attract the wrong kind of attention in this city?" She pulled herself to her bare feet, the rough cobblestones itchy beneath her.

"Sure, I do," he said, not letting go of her hand. "You just gotta go looking for trouble."

She slugged him gently on the shoulder. "Whatever, Soul," she said. "You try running on cobblestones in high heels. I almost broke my ankles a few times back there. I'm just glad I can get out of this damned skirt." She pulled none-too-fondly at the hem of said garment. "This is so not my style."

Soul hummed. He grabbed her abruptly around the shoulders and turned her around, to her surprise. He hunkered down until his face was beside her bottom. "Eh, I dunno," he said with a lecherous grin. He poked her right rump with a couple stiff fingers languidly. "Makes you ass look awesome, at least. Though your legs are still kinda scrawny…"

Maka whirled on him and slammed his face with the flat of her foot in a mighty roundhouse kick. "GODDAMNED PERV!" she shouted, the satisfying thump of impact knocking him to his side. "Ugh, I can't trust any men to be gentlemen!"

Soul grinned as he pushed himself up and wiped his bloodied nose. "Maybe not," he agreed. "But who else you got to toughen you up like I have?"

Maka—well, Maka _pouted_. "Shut up," she repeated, turning her head to the side.

Soul stood and brushed himself off. "All right, all right," he said. "Time we're done playing around. You know what we gotta do."

Maka blanched. "Shit… Soul, you know I hate doing this," she murmured. "You do it, please? It just gives me the willies."

Soul shook his head resolutely. "Uh-uh. Shinigami-sama made me promise to keep you on track. We _agreed_ on this, Maka. Time to stick to your end of the deal."

Maka bit her lip and looked down. "Sooooul," she said, drawing out the word. "It's gross! I—"

Soul walked up behind her and placed his hands lightly, reassuringly, on her shoulders. He stood about three inches above her, a growth spurt from a couple years before completely leaving her in the dust, height-wise. "Maka," he said sternly. "You know the deal. You may hate being used as a weapon—which I understand, given the situation—but the two of us together have a lot of work to do still. If you ever want to turn into a DeathScythe—"

"But I don't _want_ to be a DeathScythe!" she blurted, turning around and pushing Soul away. "You and Papa make it sound so great, but that doesn't mean I do too!" She crossed her arms. "I'm a Meister, not a weapon! And that's it!"

Soul looked at her, attempting to meet her gaze, though she actively avoided it. "Huh," he said. "You want to know what's so great about it, huh?" He shook his head. "Maka, Maka, Maka…" He took a few steps toward her. She didn't flinch, but she didn't step into his reach, either. "You think being a weapon is fun? Really? You think being a DeathScythe is great? That I'm having the time of my life out here?"

Maka's eyes dropped. "I don't mean—"

"It's not fun, not at _all_. " Soul touched Maka's shoulders again. "Maka, being a Weapon isn't that much fun. It's exciting, sure, and I'll admit, when we go all out, it's a rush. But…" He waved a hand to their side, at the glowing crimson orb that was the beast's corrupted soul. "When I was younger," he said, a bit more softly, "I thought going after Kishin eggs was fun. Thought hunting down the bad guys was… an adventure. With you, back then, back when you and I began being partners…" He sighed and shook his head ruefully. "I was a dumb kid. But we're older now. And after Medusa, and Arachne, and Asura…"

"Soul…" Maka said, softly.

"No, let me finish. Been needing to tell you this for a long time now." Maka looked up at her partner. Though boisterous, and sometimes boastful, he'd never really been one to make speeches like this. He'd usually preferred actions over words. This was new. "Maka, what we do isn't some game. It's serious. Even though I'm a DeathScythe now, thanks to you, what I can do to protect you is pretty limited."

"Soul, come on! You're—"

"Maka, I won't always be there to jump in front of you!"

Maka winced. She still had nightmares of that first day they'd met Chrona. She still feared those awful days she'd sat beside his bed, wondering if he would ever wake up. "Maka," he continued softly. "You are… special. You have so much _potential_. You father is the Death Scythe _himself_ , the personal weapon of Shinigami-sama. Your mother gave you the Demon Hunter technique and the anti-Demon wavelength. As Weapon or Meister, you have the potential to exceed… well, _everyone_. But you can't do it if you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid of anything!" Maka exclaimed.

Soul arched an eyebrow. "No?" He gently turned her by her shoulders to face the floating, rotted, blood-red soul before her. "Then do you job. Eat it."

Maka involuntarily inched backwards. Soul sighed to himself; getting her to do this was getting harder every time. She'd been raised in the belief that she was purely human, a simple daughter of Weapon and Meister. She'd been told that humans weren't ever allowed to eat souls, human or Kishin. Even after two years of coaxing her through the process, she was still squeamish at the prospect. But if she were to ever really get stronger, able to defend herself without him anywhere near at hand, it was something she would have to get used to.

Soul pursed his lips and frowned. "Well," he said and shrugged, "I've got no use for it, though it's been a while since I had one." He stepped around her, noting her sigh of relief. "Hmm…" He plucked the orb from out of the air and examined it. The glowing red ball flickered in the night, casting hazy, vile-looking shadows about. It wiggled and squirmed a bit, as if it knew its fate.

He frowned yet again, and held it a little closer to his eye. "What the… what's this?"

Maka leaned around Soul; though she wasn't too keen on the idea of consuming souls, even Kishin souls, in the first place, if there was something odd, she might know something about it. "What is it, Soul?" she asked him.

Soul glanced over his shoulder, then pulled the captured soul around him so that Maka couldn't see. "It's nothing," he insisted. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing."

Maka, not believing him, tried to reach his hand, but Soul kept it away from her. "Come on, Soul!" she said, still trying to wrestle his arm down. "If it's something weird, I might know what it is! Let me see!" She actually tried to swing around him and grab at his wrist, his fingers illuminated from within by the soul. "Let me—"

She was interrupted without warning when Soul popped the red orb into her mouth. Reflexively, she swallowed before she even realized what had happened. She gagged comically, then swung at Soul's head, furious. "DAMN IT, SOUL!" she shouted in the abandoned night.

Soul took the hit, still grinning that shit-eating grin. "Just did what I had to do, Maka," he said from the ground. "And I don't regret it one bit."

She fumed and walked away, off into the night, toward their shared hotel room. He lay there for a few moments, though. _I know she doesn't keep track,_ he thought. _But that's soul number ninety-six. She's almost there. That's when the real fun begins._

* * *

 _Damn that Soul!_ Maka seethed as she stormed into the hotel room. _Damn him! Aargh, I'm going to kill him!_ She was angry, and she had every right to be. She'd just been forced to consume, swallow, a human soul…

A rational part of her mind reminded her that, technically, it _wasn't_ a human's soul, not anymore. A Kishin's soul was what resulted when a human being became so evil, so twisted, so lusting for blood, that their very core became something… different. They became something vile, something less than a dog. They became a potential hazard to the world.

She knew that it was her duty to hunt these things down and dispose of them. She knew that it was the natural order of things to exterminate them as quickly as possible, before they could hurt too many people. It was impossible to nip them in the bud, something that had weighed heavily on her conscience a few times when the body count in whatever region they cropped up in had grown too high before she'd arrived. It was difficult, seeing the blood, knowing the people's faces.

For four years, ever since she was a young girl of thirteen, too young to know any better, she'd been a slayer of the eggs of Kishin. The adventure, the challenge, the lust for battle that she'd had had been strong at that age, when puberty was just hitting her, when she believed herself to be on top of the world. She was Maka, possessor and Meister of the one scythe-type Weapon out there, partner of one of the strongest Weapons not yet a DeathScythe.

She was powerful, strong, brave, and utterly, foolishly confident.

And she couldn't stomach the thought of eating the souls of the damned.

"Am I really that weak?" she said aloud, worriedly. She sat down on one of the queen-sized beds, tossing aside the purse she'd collected while on the way back to the hotel. She felt her stomach with one hand, rubbing it gently. She knew that the actual soul wasn't there, not really; whatever magical engine she possessed that let her turn into a weapon, that's where the egg of Kishin now resided. But she still thought that she could feel the wiggling, writhing red ball in there, churning her insides to butter. _It's just nerves,_ she thought. _Just nerves, that's all._

She stood and clenched her jaw, tightening her fists. _I'm almost there. I'm almost full enough of souls. How many more do I need? Six, seven? Plus a witch's soul? How hard can it be, huh?_

Oh, she knew it wasn't quite that easy. Of every hundred Weapons, only three or four, if that, managed to become DeathScythes. The journey of gathering all ninety-nine souls of corrupted humans and the soul of a witch was a long and arduous one, danger being a large part of it, and in truth, more than a few students of the DWMA had died in the pursuit of the goal. Never before, when she'd simply been a Meister student, had she ever really given thought to her personal danger. At least, she hadn't… until that day the girl Chrona arrived into their lives.

Maka shook her head. The past was the past, and there wasn't any use in thinking about it. Life was better for them now, all things considered. The plots of Medusa and Arachne, though damaging, were put down. Stein was healthy and sane once more, Shinigami-sama was no worse for wear after the encounter with Asura, and even Kid seemed to be overcoming his OCD… though he still occasionally worried if his photographs were askew back at home.

Even Soul himself was better than before. The black blood manufactured by Medusa that had infected his body when slashed by Chrona lay dormant. Whether due to the death of Medusa, or the death of the living creature called Ragnarok, or some other mitigating factor, Maka knew not. But neither of them had fallen into a fit of absolute rage since that catastrophe, and neither felt like revisiting that menace.

All was good… and that might've been the problem. Business as usual meant boredom as usual. In the two years since Asura, since he Weapon blood had boiled over and she fought the living Kishin, she'd spent nearly all her time either in the classroom or out on assignment. In the rare times that she would bring herself to her full weapon form, Soul would act as her Meister. He wasn't as strong as her, not physically, but he was getting along well. Their resonance in that formation was just as strong as with the positions reversed. But there was still no doubt that she was the stronger Meister, not one bit, so that was how things usually were.

But in the past two years… Soul had not consumed a single one of the souls they'd reaped in the name of Shinigami-sama. Through begging, coercion, blackmail, and trickery—such as tonight—she had swallowed each and every single one. It was never easy for her; hell, sometimes it was downright horrible—but she did it. Every one. Every time.

Maka bowed her head and laced her fingers under her chin. All that time, Soul had been by her side, pushing her into becoming something that, before, she never thought she'd have to deal with. He'd spent more time helping her become stronger than anything else. As annoying and pervy as he was at times, she knew that his heart was in the right place. It always had been, right from the start. He'd been there for her, even through the rough times, through the hardships.

He'd been there for her.

And how, how had she'd repaid him? She closed her eyes and thought for a few moments. She scanned her memories of him, of him and her together. In four whole years, four years of her short life, she couldn't remember a single day where the two of them weren't together. _Four years with me._ He had done much for her, in his own way. Brought her chocolates when she was down, or taking her side in regards to her father. Helped show her how to play basketball with the rest of her team—she still sucked, couldn't dribble for shit, but it didn't matter, not with all of the smiles they all had together.

He did her laundry, cleaned the house, played the piano, went shopping, took care of the bills. And what did she do for her half of the relationship?

She grimaced. She swung him around and cut monsters up.

I have to do something for him, soon, she thought. _He's been through a lot lately, he deserves to be treated._ She stood and nodded to the mirror hanging on the wall, opposite her. She grimaced again. _But first… gotta get out of these clothes. I look like a cheap hooker on half-off day._ She opened up her suitcase and pulled out her pajamas; a simple sky-blue, cotton pant- and top-set that she loved. It was comfortable, and she never sweated in her sleep, not even if it got a bit warm.

She sighed and grabbed the hem of her shirt with arms crossed opposite. She tugged upwards and out, her hair stringing through the neckline. She frowned yet again at the image in the mirror. Every time she saw her body, she found things to nitpick at. She knew that she wasn't ugly, not really. She was fit enough, especially with all of the fighting she'd done over the years. Her body was pretty muscular for a girl, and her belly showed abs finely chiseled from intense exercise. But she was lean, whippy, and, to be honest, she reeeaaally envied some her fellow Spartoi… especially Tsubaki. That girl was _blessed_.

She casually cupped her breasts and looked at herself in profile. Nothing really there, to be honest. Small b-cups that barely held up a sheer dress was about all she had to work with. She knew flatter girls, but not too many. _Why do all the strongest girls have to be big?_ she wondered.

 _Well, at least my butt's all right._ Though only seventeen, she had a decent derriere. Long, long hours of running up the steps to the DWMA gave her glutes all the work they needed. She wasn't a vain girl, not by any means, and confident in her abilities, but if there wasn't something that she minded, it was having a hard, tight behind. Maka giggled a bit at the thought. _Scrawny legs, my ass,_ she thought, a small smile playing on her lips. _Soul doesn't know what he's missing._ Her eyes widened. _Did I just… shit._

It was at that instant that the hotel room opened. Her partner, her friend, her housemate, her confidant himself, Soul "Eater" Evans, DeathScythe, entered the room and saw her, chest pointed out, looking into the mirror, her hands on her skirted rump. He froze like a spooked rabbit, stock-still, his eyes locked on her. Stunned.

Maka slowly turned her head toward the door, horror on her face. Her own eyes were wide, and a bit of panic was evident. She didn't move the rest of her body, though. She couldn't. She was, likewise, frozen.

Like a prey animal hoping to escape the claws of a raptor, Soul took a single slow, cautious step backwards out the doorway and closed the door until the soft click of the latch sprung into place.

* * *

Several people had come and gone by him, looking down at the young man, questions in some of their eyes. A few of the men smirked, especially if they'd seen the paired team that day or the one before. "In the doghouse?" a tall, dark-haired guy asked, a dashing redhead on one arm.

Soul nodded slowly. "Something like that," he admitted. "I swear, it's not my fault, though."

The man snorted. "It never is," he drawled. "Just do yourself a favor, kid. Whenever she whistles, you bark, and keep on that way till you're out."

Soul nodded morosely as the man and his woman walked away, her with a knowing smile on her face, he with a grin. Soul didn't pay attention to their conversation as they slipped into their own room. He just kept thinking on how badly he'd be beaten for what had happened. _It's… it's not my fault!_ he screamed silently to himself. How could I have known—

The door beside him opened slowly. Maka, her face extremely blank, exited the room and looked down at him. Her gaze met his, and he could read nothing in her eyes. He'd thought that he knew her enough by now to practically read her mind, but he couldn't get a single read on the woman. She was as unreadable as the sky on a cloudy night.

She slowly turned, and walked back in, but didn't shut the door. Soul let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. _Oh… god… I'm a dead man. I'm dead. She is literally going to kill me._ He stood, and noticed that his knees were just a little bit shaky. _Some DeathScythe I turn out to be._

He walked in to see Maka sitting at the foot of her bed, her back ramrod straight, her hands gently folded in her lap. She was looking at the wall in front of her, her eyes never wavering. Soul gulped. A _mad_ Maka he could handle. An _enraged_ Maka, he could handle. An _apocalyptic_ Maka, he could handle. But a _calm_ Maka… that was new. It was different.

And he was afraid for his life.

He slowly stepped into the room and closed the door gently. He didn't advance any further, though. All this could be some sort of trap. Maka was smart; she could easily set something up in an hour, with him on the other side of the wall, without him being any the wiser. Demon powers and Meister skills aside, Maka was dangerous.

"Get changed for bed," Maka said, her tone even and uninflected. She said nothing else. Nothing. Soul cautiously walked past her, her on his left, to his bed and suitcase. He kept an eye on her while he withdrew sweats and a plain white tee. After only a second's hesitation, he walked into the small bathroom, shut it, and took his time changing. The longer he took to change his clothes, the longer it would be until Maka made him bleed.

Only a few minutes past too long, though, he opened the bathroom door, turned off the light, and walked back into the room. Maka was still sitting there, right where he'd left her, still looking straight ahead. He took a cautious step towards her. "Maka," he said carefully. "I swear, I swear to God, that was an accident. I didn't mean—I mean, I didn't know you weren't—"

"I know, Soul," she said, her voice rock-steady. "It's nobody's fault. something like that was bound to happen. So, we're going to forget it ever happened, and get on with it. Understood?"

Soul nodded, his head jerking. "Yeah, yeah, I understand," he said.

"Good." Maka stood and went around her bed to pull down the comforter. "Let's get some sleep. Our plane back to DWMA leaves early tomorrow." She clicked off the lamp beside her bed that provided the only illumination in the room. She slipped under her covers, but Soul simply stood there for a moment. He couldn't believe that she would simply let him go like that. Her temper was _legendary_. But he finally galvanized himself to movement, slipping under his own covers, the darkness of the room consuming him.

They lay like that for over an hour. Soul couldn't fall asleep, not after what had happened, and he knew Maka's breathing pattern too well to know that she was yet awake as well. _This is too much,_ he thought. Even in the silence, the room was thick with tension. "Soul?" Maka said, breaking the deafening silence.

Soul hissed abruptly. "Yeah, Maka?" he said.

Maka was quiet for a few moments before she continued. "Can I ask you something?"

Soul nodded, before realizing that she couldn't see him in the dark. "Yeah."

She chose her words carefully. "Am I really that ugly?"

Soul shot up like a jack-o-lantern. "What?" he exclaimed. "Whoa, whoa. Where'd that come from?"

Maka stirred. In the faint moonlight, he saw her turn over on her side, away from him. "When you saw me… you looked afraid. Like I was ugly. Am I?"

Soul's mouth gaped open and closed for a few seconds. He had to choose words so diplomatic they'd earn him a freakin Nobel prize. "You aren't ugly, Maka," he said. "No way. Not a chance."

Maka pulled her knees up a bit. "But you… why'd you look like that?"

Soul sighed and rubbed his face. "Because," he said, "I thought you were going to kill me. I'd never, ever seen you like that, and I've gone outta my way to give you as much privacy as I could. You know that. So, the logical outcome of that little accident shoulda been my immediate and utter elimination."

The covers shifted again. "But it was an accident. It wasn't your fault."

Soul shrugged to himself. "That really hasn't stopped you before," he pointed out. "Remember when Blair started living with us?"

Despite herself, Maka smiled. Maybe he had a point. "I've gotten better, though," she said.

Soul snorted. "Yeah, but you've got a long way to go."

She didn't reply, so Soul figured that was the end of it. He lay back down on the bed, his head comfortably supported by the pillow. He laced his fingers behind his head and relaxed. Now that he was reasonably sure he wouldn't get killed in his sleep, he figured that he could afford it.

But a few moments later, Maka spoke up again. "You mean that, don't you?"

Soul turned his head. "Huh?"

"That I'm not ugly. You mean it."

"Maka," he said, exasperated. "You're one of the prettiest girls I know. Stop being so damned insecure."

She turned over to face him. Even in the dark, her olive eyes gleamed. "I'm sorry, Soul," she said. "I'm sorry for everything, really."

"Eh? What're you talking about?" he asked.

Maka inhaled deeply, then let it out. "I know I don't make things easy for you, Soul," she said. "It's always you that takes responsibility for things. You do all of the housework and shopping, and all I am is hard on you. That aside, you've been working so hard, all for my sake. I know I'm not easy to live with, and… and…" She buried her face in her pillow. "I wish there was something I could do for you."

Soul's eyes widened a little. "Maka," he said softly. "Maka, you idiot." He chuckled a bit at her expression. "You really think all that bothers me? Really? We've been together for over four _years_ now. That's longer than a lot of _marriages_. I got used to you waaay before I could be bothered by it." He sat up and shook his head, still chuckling. "Maka, you're more than my Meister. You're my best friend. And no matter how dumb you can be sometimes, that'll never change. So, don't worry about accidents like tonight, or being pretty, or being a DeathScythe, or anything like that. You let me worry about that. I'll take the blame for anything that goes wrong."

"But—"

"It's a Weapon's job," he interrupted, "to protect his Meister. Not the other way around. And if that means I have to push you around and make sure that you're strong enough by yourself without me around. If you didn't have Weapon blood in you, it would be a different story. But you do. I've been pushing you because I…" He closed his eyes. "One day, I might not be strong enough. That day, if it comes again, you have to be strong enough for yourself. I don't ever want to see you hurt again. Not for anything, not for anyone. Never."

"Soul…" she propped herself on her elbow. "Soul, I never asked you to be my guardian. I never asked you for any of that."

Soul shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he said. "That's what you do for someone you… care about."

Maka tilted her head. "You… care about me?"

Soul gulped. "Yeah," he replied. "I do."

They looked at each other for a few moments. "Is that why you never…" She sighed. "Soul, I've seen a lot of girls ask you to be their Weapon. A _lot_ of them. Am I why you never… Soul, am I holding you back?"

Soul looked at her intensely for a moment. "If I thought you were holding me back," he said to her, "I would have told you a long time ago. Being with you's the best thing that's ever happened to me." He shrugged. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have been a DeathScythe, most likely. Aaand, I know that I'm some good for you, too." He held up a hand and gently closed it into a fist. "We're partners, you and me. By that very nature, we work together to strengthen each other. You cover my weaknesses, and I cover yours." He gave her a lopsided grin. "I wouldn't wanna be with anyone other than you, Maka. So, you're stuck with me. Deal with it."

Maka smiled. "I'll try," she said. She frowned then. "Is that why you never date? Because of me?"

Soul huffed. "It's not something that I worry about," he said.

"Why not?"

Soul bit his lip. "Well… Ok, think about this. What happens if I start dating a normal girl, someone not connected with DWMA? We date a couple years or so, get comfortable, fall in love. Then, one day, something happens out there. I get hurt, or even killed. She doesn't know what happened to me until days later, if ever.

"Or, how about this: We date, we fall in love, she decides to move away to New York or Paris or something. Somewhere far, far away. She loves me, she wants me to move away with her. I'd have to choose between her and you." He shook his head and looked at her. "I'd choose you, and I'd break her heart. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me—not anyone who doesn't deserve it, anyway. The girls here… they don't deserve that. We're here to protect them, not hurt them."

Maka thought about that for a minute. "And… you never thought about asking me out?" Was it Soul's imagination, or was there accusation in her voice?

"Uh-uh. No way. I know how much you don't trust men. Didn't even think it worth the trouble."

"But I trust you," she said.

"You trust me as your partner," Soul countered. "As your friend. But you think all guys are pigs." He held up a hand to ward off a protest. "A lot of us are, yeah, it's true. But not _all_ of us are."

"Is that why no guy's really shown interest in me?" she asked.

"Eh… er…"

Maka flashed a glare at him. "Soul Eater. What aren't you telling me?"

"I… Um… Listen, Maka. Again, I swear it's not my fault."

"Soul! What did you do?"

Soul rubbed at his eyes. "About that. Remember a few years ago, a few months before we met Blair?"

Maka nodded. "Yeah…"

"And you remember a Meister named Jason Craft?"

Maka thought for a moment. "Yeah, I do. Kinda tall, a year older than us, I think. Stupid, but strong enough."

Soul set his jaw. "One day, on a street corner outside a café, I heard him and a couple of his cronies talking as they walked by. They didn't notice me cause I was drinking coffee and reading." He smiled slightly at her expression. "Hey, I read occasionally. There are some cool books out there. Anyway, there was Craft and his buddies. He said, and I quote: 'Yeah, that Maka girl, daughter of the DeathScythe of Shinigami? Doesn't matter if she isn't a Weapon, I'd wield her any time!'" Soul looked away for a second, his face a scowl. "I finished my coffee, put my book in my pocket, and followed them."

"Soul—"

"You deserve to know, Maka," Soul said. "I followed them for a while, until we got near the outskirts of the business district, and near the neighborhoods. Don't know why they were heading that way, and I don't really care. When we got to some warehouses, I let them know I was behind them. I told Craft that I'd heard what he'd said, and I wanted an apology on your behalf.

"He told me to get lost, or he'd get me lost. I didn't like the sound of that. I again told them to apologize. They told me to… do something anatomically impossible."

"Fuck yourself," Maka postulated.

Soul smiled. "Something like that," he agreed. "I stood my ground. One of his friends, a Weapon, a rapier, I think he was, transformed. I guess they were partners. Craft and his buddy, don't even think I ever knew his name, rushed me."

"They _attacked_ you?" Maka almost yelled.

"Yup. Your fellow Meisters and my fellow Weapon attacked me, all over their perceived slight to one guy's pride."

Maka's mouth was agape. "Wha—what happened next."

Soul shrugged. "We fought," he said. "You know rapiers; they like to keep their distance and stab you to death. Craft was fast, but not that fast. He closed the distance, got to just inside his maximum range, and started trying to cut me up. His buddy swung around to the other side of me and tried to get me from behind. To be honest, he was pretty good, even without a Weapon to back him up. The two of them tried to box me in."

"And then?"

"And then…" He looked up at the ceiling. "Combat training with Sid took over. The goon tried grabbing me from behind while I was concerned with not getting cut up. I grabbed him by his shirt, flipped backwards over him before he could react, and pushed him toward Craft. Course, Craft got the sword outta the way, but the goon slammed into Craft anyway.

"I didn't give them any time to think about it. I rushed them, and grabbed them around the waist at the same time, goon sandwiched between me and Craft. I…I lifted them up off the ground, anger and fear and rage fueling me, adrenalin pumping through my veins. I ran hard, squeezing the two of them so hard that I think I heard bones crunch. Craft dropped his sword along the way. For twenty feet or so I ran, screaming, shouting. I slammed the two of them against a brick wall, and actually broke bricks and mortar with the blow.

"Craft suffered from broken ribs and shattered collar bone, on top of a dislocated shoulder. The concussion was the worst of it, though. His friend didn't get off so bad, mainly bruised."

"And… the Weapon?"

Soul snorted. "French pansy ran the instant he got dropped. Anyway, after that, the two of them spent a lot of time in the clinic with Medusa—remember, this was a long time before she was busted as a witch. When they healed fully, they left. Last time I heard, the Weapon guy was partnered with another French, a girl… Angeline? Angelica? Something like that."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "You're talking about Pierre, Weapon partner of Angelique. Last I heard, they were just a few souls away from going after a witch."

Soul groaned. "If it's taken them this long to get that many souls, I don't think they'll make DeathScythe. But it could happen. Anyway… word got around. People assumed that I was badass enough to take down two Meisters and a weapon by myself. I got a reputation as someone not to be messed with… and someone who's partner is untouchable." He smiled sadly and shook his head. "That's probably why so many girls keep asking me to be their partner."

"But why haven't I ever heard of this, if everyone else knew about it?" Maka demanded.

"Because I _wanted_ it that way!" Soul said. "It was better that you didn't know about it. If you had, you would have been angry at me, especially for getting in trouble like that. And yes, Shinigami and your dad knew all about it. Craft and the goon were expelled, and—Pierre—was given a second chance, seeing as we need good Weapons more than Meisters, generally. And I… I didn't want you to think any less of me. Didn't want you to think I was some jealous thug."

Maka contemplated him for a moment. "You did all that for me," she said softly.

"Yeah," answered Soul.

She looked at him steadily for a bit before speaking. "Thank you, Soul," she said softly. She settled back into her pillow, though she didn't take her gaze from him. "I know you're protective of me. And I appreciate it." She smirked. "Just don't go getting hurt defending my honor."

"I'll do my best," Soul drawled. "Let's get some sleep, Maka. We have a long day tomorrow, you know."

Maka nodded. "Right. Enough of this touchy-feely crap, anyway." Soul laughed and agreed. He lay back down in his bed, and closed his eyes. He felt a lot better now.

They lay quietly for a little longer. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed. He smiled in the darkness, and felt himself slowly drifting off to sleep.

"Soul?" Maka whispered softly.

Soul stirred, jolted from slumber. "Yeah?"

She took a minute before asking, "Were my breasts ok?"

Soul's eyes widened again. "Uh… Um… Yes?"

"Was that a question mark there?" she said, in a slight teasing tone.

"I'm really not quite sure how to answer that question diplomatically," he admitted.

"Screw diplomacy."

 _Greeaaat choice of words, Maka._ "They were just fine, Maka. Just great."

She hummed. "Soul… you'll always be with me, right?"

"Right."

"You'll never leave me?"

"Never."

"If I—if I asked you to… to a date…"

"Any time," Soul answered immediately. "Anything for you."

Maka inhaled. "Really?"

Soul grunted. "Maka, I swear to you, I'll never leave you." _Not like your father left your mother_ was the unspoken implication.

"I don't want to be alone," she whispered.

"I won't ever let that happen," Soul said in the same voice.

Minutes passed. Suddenly, Maka pulled her covers off of her. She stood and, to Soul's immense surprise, walked over to his bed. She pulled the corner of his comforter off, lay down beside him, and put her head on his shoulder. She lightly draped her right arm over his chest, and snuggled in close to him. Soul almost stopped breathing, she was so close. Never before had she shown so much… so much intimacy. Soul slowly stroked her spine through her pajama top, and realized that it and her bottom was all she wore. "Never leave me," she whispered.

Soul hugged her closer, the realization that their relationship was taking a turn, then and there, forever. "Never," he promised. He brushed his lips atop her soft hair and gently kissed the top of her head. "Never. Now, get some sleep."

Maka murmured, nuzzling his shoulder, and allowed her body to relax. He, too, slipped into sleep, the warmth of her body comforting her beyond belief. He was… content.

He could get used to this.

* * *

At around noon the next day, they arrived back at the airport outside Death City. _Jet lag,_ he grumbled silently. Even three days in Rome got his internal rhythm messed up. Maka, to his annoyance, fared better than he ever did under similar circumstances. She was dressed in her now-standard outfit of a white jacket with a long, billowing hem, white school uniform with blue trim, and the patch on her shoulder that signified her position as a member of the elite team of young Meisters and Weapons, Spartoi.

The two took a cab to Death City and the small house they shared. They unpacked, and, using the mirror hanging in their living room, reported in to Shinigami.

Soul yawned long and loud. "I'm gonna make some coffee," he said.

Maka smiled. "Good idea. Hungry?"

Soul's grumbling stomach answered for him. She laughed, and said "I'll make us some sandwiches."

Soul grinned. "Cool." They busied themselves in the kitchen for a while, until their respective projects were put together. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, before Soul grabbed some mugs and poured for the both of them. Maka took the sandwiches to the table and sat down, Soul joining her a few seconds later. They ate in silence for a while, relishing the taste of ham, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. Soul finished a couple minutes before her, and began sipping on his holy java. When Maka had gotten to hers, he gently set the cup down and looked at her.

She glanced up from her cup. She knew it was about time for them to hash things out. She sipped, added another sugar to her cup, and set it aside to cool for a while. "So," she said.

"So," Soul agreed. "What now?"

Maka flushed. She knew what he meant. "I—I'm not quite sure," she admitted. "Never saw this coming."

Soul nodded. "Me either," he said. "Things are going to be different, now, aren't they?"

Maka bobbed her head. "A little, yeah. Er… we're… we're dating, right?"

Soul shrugged. "I guess so. I've never really had a girlfriend, so I'm kinda in the blank about it." He looked down at his cup, but no answers could be found in the black brew.

"We… go on dates, I guess?" Maka said hesitantly. "Dinner, movies, stuff like that?"

"I guess."

Maka sipped her coffee. "What about… kissing?"

Soul looked up sharply. _Careful, Eater. Here there be monsters._ "If you… want… I mean, if that's what you want to do…" He floundered for a second. "You…"

"Do you want to kiss me?" Maka asked, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards.

Soul swallowed again. "It wouldn't… be… objectionable."

Maka's lips spread in a twisted smile upon the rim of her cup. "And sex?"

Soul's mouth, full of a good pull of coffee, sputtered. He could barely stop himself from spewing all over Maka. He swallowed and bit his lip. "I plead the fifth," he said, "on the grounds you may kick my ass."

She chuckled, and set down her cup. "Prosecuting counsel grants immunity to the defendant."

"In that case," the defendant himself said, "maybe one of these days. We're both young still, and still have a lot of growing up to do." He fiddled with his cup. "Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but didn't your parents get married when they were just a little older than us?"

Maka frowned. "Yeah. They did." She pursed her lips. "But that's got nothing to do with us. You and I went through a lot more than they ever did together. And… I trust you. One of these days, yeah. Maybe."

"Oh, _meow_. " Soul's eyes went wide as he stood over Maka's shoulders. Her blood ran cold as she guessed at what he saw. _Damn it, I forgot about the cat!_

She turned to see Blair, their resident magical cat-girl, dressed in absolutely nothing besides an open robe _barely_ held closed with a cloth belt, standing in the doorway leading to the living room, leaning against the door frame. "Do my ears deceive me?" she purred. "Are Soul and Maka talking about S-E-X?" She smiled and sauntered into the room. "Are you two… You are _,_ aren't you?" She put her hands to her lips. "Oh, no! Maka! You've taken Soul from me! Oh, Soul, how could you?" She went behind the prone Soul, stunned by the sheer amount of flesh on display, and couldn't have moved if he tried. She crossed her arms over his chest and bent down, smooshing his head in between her rather prodigious breasts.

"Now, now, Soul," she purred over him, "you wouldn't _really_ be thinking about leaving me, would you? I thought all those nights spent together meant something… All those baths we took together… You don't want to make Blair cry, do you?"

"I… I…" Soul stuttered, his face beet-red. His head was so far lodged in her cleavage, he could actually see, out of the corner of his eyes, the rise of her mountainous mounds.

Unlike the night before, when Maka wore a mask of serenity when angry at Soul, now… oh, yes, she was enraged. "DAMN YOU, SOUL EATER! I HATE YOU!" She flung the coffee cup at his head. It smashed against his forehead, porcelain shattering, coffee spraying out all over the kitchen. "JUST GO TO HELL FOR ALL I CARE!"

She stormed out of the room, flung the door closed with a resounding slam, stomped across the living room, and went upstairs, fuming.

Soul simply sat there, not reacting to the hot coffee that had sprayed over him, or the bleeding gash now on his forehead that was quickly mingling with java to drip off of his nose. Blair, startled by Maka's shout and action, backed away from him and let go. "Um…"

"Blair. Sit. Down." Soul didn't often speak to the woman in any kind of harsh tone, but now, he brooked no argument. "Sit the FUCK down. Now."

Blair moved without hesitation to sit in the seat Maka had vacated so violently. She had the presence of mind to bundle the bathrobe up to cover herself up. She usually didn't have much in the way of modesty, usually, but when Maka or Soul got gruff, she did her best to act right.

Blair was something of an oddity, even among the weird people that routinely traveled to and from Death City, itself a unique place in the world. Blair was a cat imbued with so much magical power, she could transform into an extremely beautiful woman. She had all of the powers of a witch, and nine individual souls—when she was killed, she could simply come back to life, none the worse for wear. In fact, when she met Soul and Maka, they were under the assumption that she actually _was_ a witch, and managed—after several days of trying—to kill her. Unfortunately, cat souls, even magical ones, didn't equal a witch's, and every single one of the ninety-nine souls Soul had consumed were worthless.

The pair intrigued her, and she followed them home, where they discovered that they pretty much couldn't get rid of her. She stayed, and had helped them out a few times in the past few years, but…

This was a side of this young man that she'd never seen before. Usually, when she flirted and teased Soul in front of Maka, she would only get exasperated and Soul embarrassed. That they were both this angry. She believed that, if it came to it, they were about equal in strength and fighting ability… but for some reason, she got a bad, bad feeling. She was scared, really, really scared.

"Blair," Soul said slowly. "I understand that, for most of your life, you'd lived on your own, away from most people. I understand that you're a cat. I understand that you don't have the same views on some things as most humans. I _understand_ that you feel playful sometimes. But I have a question, and you'd better answer honestly." He looked up at her, and the sight of his bloody face chilled her. "How much of that conversation did you listen in on before you interrupted?"

Blair gulped. "Uh… Um…"

" _How much?_ "

"E-ever since you started eating," she stammered. "A-all of it."

Soul drummed his fingers upon the wooden table, his fingernails tapping a rough pattern. "So. Let me get this straight." Drumdrumdrumdrum. "You heard Maka and me talking about how we're together." Drumdrumdrumdrum. "You heard us talking about being together." Drumdrumdrumdrum. "You heard us talking about kissing, a topic neither of us has _any clue_ about." Drumdrumdrumdrum. "You heard us talking about… Us." He placed his palm upon the table, ignoring the dripping blood. "And yet," he said, his voice rising in volume, "you thought it would be fun to come in here and, in front of Maka, do what you did."

"B-but—"

"Last night, me and Maka had a talk. We hashed things out. We realized that things were going to be different between us. We decided that we were pretty much the only people for each other. We _care_ for each other. We confessed our feelings for each other, Blair. Soon enough, we might actually f _all in love._ I might already be in love with her, I don't know.

"Now, we've tolerated your games this long because you're a pretty decent person. Odd, flirty, yes, but generally a decent person. But do you have _any_ idea what you've just done? _At all?_ "

"I—"

" _I'm not done, Blair._ Because of you, she might never, ever trust me again. Everything we've ever had, everything we've ever done together, thick and thin, good and bad, it might mean _absolutely nothinfg_ now. Blair, I have to know, are you satisfied? Are you? Are you glad knowing that you've practically ruined every facet of our relationship?"

Blair started… crying. Not huge gusseting crying of panic, but simple twin streams of salty remorse. She'd actually begun crying before he'd finished his tirade, but it wasn't until he was done before he had noticed. She put her elbows on the table and put her face in her hands. Her shoulders heaved as she cried, and he really didn't give a fuck what that shaking did to her anatomy. "I-I-I'm s-sorry, S-Soul," she stammered as the tears were shed. "I'm s-so sorry. I d-don't know why I act like that s-sometimes, I don't, I j-just do…" She trailed off without taking her hands from her face.

Soul looked at her coldly for a moment before speaking. "Doesn't matter if you're sorry, Blair. Last night was one of the best in my life, and today was supposed to be the same. And you ruined it." He stood from the table and, coffee stains and blood and all, walked out the back door, leaving her behind, alone, sorrowful, and crying.

* * *

So there you have it, guys. Not a bad beginning, eh? I'll post the second chapter sometime within the next two weeks. Maka and Soul are feeling the love, but the world is conspiring to make it as hard as possible! Dang that cat!

Merry Christmas, folks. Go pet a dog.

~dead witch


End file.
